


Evil Author Tidbits

by princessitsy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: F/M, Gen, evil author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessitsy/pseuds/princessitsy
Summary: Tidbits and tangents from works I will probably never finish
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 59
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU 2x03

She feels the knife slide into her side as she pushes through the crowd. It is pulled back just as quickly and she doesn’t even see who held the weapon. It hurts and she gasps and stumbles. Nadine looks at her questioningly, but she waves her off. “I’m fine, just tripped.” They need to get out of here, quickly, collapsing here would not be wise. She holds her elbow close to her side, doing her best to cover the wound and continues striding ahead. Matt is clearing a path and soon they are at the exit, Blake is standing outside with her coat. She grabs it and shoves her arms inside and gratefully clambers into the car. They take off as soon as everyone is inside.

“What’s next Ma’am?” Nadine asks.

“We leave. And I need to call the President, immediately.” 

“We’ll be back at the hotel in less than 10 minutes. You can use the secure communications area while we gather the rest of our things. We should be able to leave in two hours or so. I’ll get on the phone right now and get the plane prepped.” Blake says.

The pain is starting to cloud her brain and she might be imagining it, but she feels like it’s getting harder to breathe. “Do it,” she tells Blake. “Matt, what’s the security situation?”

“Not great, but we should be able to get to the hotel and to the airport without any further problems. It will take time for news of your ‘Rusalka’ status to spread.” She wants to question how he already knows what happened inside the church but she can’t focus. 

“Okay.” She leans back, panting with exertion. She needs a plan, a way to get out of this. She knows she running on adrenaline and it will run out soon.

The pain suddenly increases exponentially and she cries out and clutches her side. 

“Ma’am?” Blake and Nadine say simultaneously.

She needs a little longer. “Just a stitch. How secure is it if we go straight to the plane and call the White House from there?” 

Jay looks at her suspiciously. “Marginally more secure, we’d have to wait until we’re out of Russian airspace to be completely secure, but once we reach cruising altitude I believe we’d be pretty good and even just being inside the plane would help.” 

“Great, let’s do that. How long of a drive to the airport?” 

They’re all eyeing her warily and Matt turns around from the front, “Ma’am I can assure you that’s not necessary.” 

“The airport. Now. Blake call the others have them meet us there. Someone from the embassy can deal with our things.” 

Blake, ever faithful, immediately starts working on his phone. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” Nadine is tentative. 

“Twenty minutes to the airport.” Matt calls from the front. He too appears to be communicating frantically via phone. “The plane should be ready in 30.”

She ignores Nadine. “Good, good.” She leans back against the seat and closes her eyes, concentrating on breathing, it takes every bit of energy she has to do that. Nadine and Jay shift nervously next to her. She can feel the blood soaking through her shirt and suit, she’s not a doctor, but the speed it’s spreading can’t be a good sign, nor can the stabbing pain in her chest. She doesn’t know why it’s so damn cold all of a sudden either. She just wants to sleep and maybe talk to Henry, yeah, that would be good.

She drowsily opens her eyes, they’re driving through the gates of the airport. “Blake?” He looks up at her. “Can you call Henry?” He tilts his head in confusion. Her grip on reality seems to be loosening, talking to the President might not be a possibility. The car stops and she can see her plane outside the window, she can’t really find the energy to finish telling Blake that she wants him to be sure to tell Henry that she loves him. 

She hears Nadine and Jay chattering but can’t quite make out the words. And then she hears Jay burst out “Did something spill? Why is my arm wet?” He pulls his arm away from her side and looks down at it. The light in the SUV is dim but he must be able to see that it’s blood because she hears a gasp and then a frantic “Ma’am?” and he’s pawing at her side. 

“What’s going on?” It’s Nadine. 

“She’s hurt, this is blood, something happened. We need to get to a hospital right away. Matt!” He’s screaming by the end and he’s pushed her back so she’s half laying on the seat resting against Nadine. 

The mention of hospital sends a last dart of adrenaline through her blood and she tries to push herself up. “No, we need to get out of Russia. We can’t trust...”

“Where is this blood coming from?” Jay sounds frantic. The door is opening and there’s a lot of noise and cross talk. Someone manages to find the wound because she feels pressure. She’s lying flat on the seat now and she thinks that someone must’ve opened her blouse because she feels cold air on her stomach. Several people seem to be screaming into their phones or else talking to themselves. She hears talk of doctors and blood and the President. Conrad. He’s going to be so pissed at her. Go to Russia and she’s just made things ten times worse. She needs someone to understand that it was just a random citizen in the crowd, no one needs to go to war over this. She also needs Henry, she wishes he were here. 

She reaches out and squeezes the hand that’s closest to hers. They have to know, to tell Conrad, and more importantly, Henry and her kids. The hand squeezes back and she hears Blake, sounding like he’s barely holding it together, say “Stay with me Elizabeth, we’re going to get you to a hospital.” Blake just called her Elizabeth, things really must be bad. 

The world only exists in flashes after that. Shouts and bright lights and movement.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A piece I started based on this prompt: Elizabeth can’t seem to see the answers to any of the world’s problems these days, even the ones that really seem like they shouldn’t be this hard to figure out, and she knows it’s because she hasn’t been able to spend a long evening relaxing at home with her husband in far too long

“She needs to get laid.” It’s muttered so quietly and under the breath, Mike isn’t sure that he heard Blake correctly. Especially since it’s not something he would expect Blake to say. 

Mike shut the door to the Oval behind him, since Elizabeth had very clearly said “Leave me alone and fix it.”

He gave Blake a questioning look. “What did you just say?”

Blake shook his head and went back behind his desk and started shuffling papers. Mike followed him, mostly because he really didn’t want to deal with intractable Senators, but also because he was intrigued and the idea of needling Blake appealed to him. “Any insight on why our beloved Commander-in-Chief has been batting zero lately? She pissed off the Canadian Prime Minister yesterday! The Canadians! Over a simple agreement on who would pay for increased border security to combat drug smuggling on the Montana border. Bess could normally be able to negotiate that in her sleep!”

Blake made a face and continued typing. “That was on the PM, he was being rude.”

Mike stared at him agape. Blake was fanatically loyal, which was admirable, but now he was just being delusional. “He asked about her family and she snapped at him. Now we’re having to offer incentives to the Canadians. The Canadians!” 

Blake turned to face him fully and narrowed his eyes. “Is there something I can do for you?” 

“What did you say earlier?” When Blake remains silent, Mike continues. “You said something about how she needs to get laid? I know you wouldn’t be speaking of the President in that way.” Mike infused as much faux sincerity into the last statement as he could. 

Blake’s face remained impassive, Bess must have passed on some of her CIA tricks to him via osmosis. “I’m sure the President would enjoy spending some time with her family, but she is doing just fine. Now do you actually need something or are you annoying me for fun? If it’s the latter, please go, I have a lot of work to do.”

Mike sighed, because honestly his job had been more difficult then it needed to be the last two weeks and if he had to talk one more lawmaker or cabinet member off the ledge he was going to lose it. Elizabeth had bungled two simple speeches, mishandled a few big donor calls, and, most worryingly and what had him deciding to get serious with Blake, yesterday in the situation room when Iran was rattling sabers, she had been indecisive and uncertain. Susan had been able to save the day, but it could have been much worse. He cocks his hip on the edge of the desk and drops the act. “Look Blake, I don’t know what is going on with her but we need to fix it, if you have any ideas I’d love to hear them. Jay was threatening to quit again yesterday, and I cannot be Chief of Staff again.”

Blake looked uncertain. “You know she loves her family, and with Allison still gallivanting around Europe, Stevie ensconced in newly-wedded bliss, and Jason...doing whatever it is Jason does, she has barely seen any of them in months.”

Mike gave him a look. “Okay, but we can’t really do anything about the kids. Kids are going to do their own thing, is this the empty nest thing Bess is always going on about? Isn’t that why she got a dog?”

Blake looked to the ceiling as if for divine guidance. He twisted his hands together


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like torturing Elizabeth apparently. This was based on a lilacmermaid prompt I have lost, but it was something like Elizabeth gets hurt and doesn't let anyone call Henry. Set during the Geneva bombing.

If she had just been a little quicker getting in the car, if she hadn’t been distracted by trying to explain herself one more time on Henry’s voicemail, or caught up in the necessity of Faustian bargains she wouldn’t be here bleeding all over her oldest friend. Conrad is screaming, the agents are screaming, and all she wants is some quiet, because despite the blood rapidly flowing onto the leather seats, her brain has decided it’s a good time to spiral into a panic attack. She’s not sure if the narrowing of her vision and the tightness in her chest is from the physical trauma or from her psychological distress. She’s seeing flashes of Abdoul and Javani and feels the weight of Fred’s body on top of her. She tries to scream to push against whatever is holding her down, but she is prevented from doing so and there is a voice in her ear telling her that they are trying to help her. 

She is jolted as the car takes a sharp corner and it brings her back to reality. The pain in her side is overwhelming and she groans which has Conrad, who is apparently the person whose lap she is draped across, looking down at her. “Don’t worry Bess, we’re almost at the hospital.”

A secret service agent interrupts, clearly continuing an argument. “As I’ve told you Sir, I highly recommend against this action, we need to get you on Air Force One.”

Reality is fuzzy and she thinks they continue talking, but one thought shines through her brain. She grasps at the hand wrapped around her. “Henry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll call…”the rest of his sentence is lost in a haze, but she clocks back in as the car shrieks to a stop. 

“No, no Henry.” The door is wrenched open and pain is flaring through her body as people start to move her. She squeezes Conrad’s hand again as she is tugged backwards. “Do not call.”

Then she’s being lifted and gravity seems to stop working for a second. The next thing she knows the world seems to be flying by, but she hears a familiar voice. “Blake,” she croaks. She has no idea how he is here already, but she doesn’t care. 

“Yes Ma’am?” His words are professional, but his voice sounds perilously close to crying. 

“Don’t.” She takes a breath and ignores the wave of pain and the shouts from medical personnel to not talk. “Don’t call Henry.”

“Ma’am?” He sounds bewildered but she can’t hold on anymore, and slides into the blissful embrace of unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

“Professor McCord?”

Henry sighs as he looks up from gathering his papers. He is not in the mood to deal with inane questions or requests for extensions. He gives a confused look at the student shifting nervously from foot to foot in front of him. She isn’t a student in the class that just finished, but he thinks she was in his Religion and Democracy course last semester. He’s baffled as to what she might be doing here though.

“Mindy is it?”

She grimaces. “Melissa.”

“Melissa, what can I do for you?” He hopes she’s not about to beg to be let into one of his classes. It’s two weeks into the semester and he doesn’t really feel like making exceptions for what he remembers as a mediocre student.

“It’s uh...it’s, I’m...”She stumbles over her words and he gives her a tight smile, he hopes this doesn’t take long, he has a large stack of papers to grade.

“Look I don’t have any room in my classes this semester but I can let you know what I’ll be teaching next year.”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “It’s not that, religion is so not my thing, as I’m sure you remember, I only took your class because Professor McCord, I mean the other Professor McCord, I mean, well anyway, she recommended I take it, she said I needed to have a firmer understanding of religion if I wanted to tackle the issues I was contemplating in my thesis. She laughed when I got a C.”

Henry is even more confused, normally Elizabeth would have mentioned a student that they had in common. Not that things have been normal lately. 

He closes up his briefcase. “That’s right, you’re a Foreign Affairs major, so what brings you to my classroom? If you want to talk about something I have office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

She looks uncertain again and starts to play with the edge of her bag. “No, I tracked you down because, well, I’m probably overstepping, she told me she was okay, but I don’t believe it.”

His eyes scrunch as he tries to connect the dots. “Elizabeth?” 

“Huh? I mean yes, Dr. McCord, the other one, gah that’s confusing. She’s my thesis adviser and I’ve been working with her since I took her Intro class freshman year. She’s the best, I never planned on majoring in politics, but she made it all so interesting and relatable and I just...”

The girl has stars in her eyes and Henry shakes his head, another one for the infatuation column. He really needs to tell Elizabeth that she has more acolytes than he does. He cuts her off before she can gush too much. “You implied there was some kind of problem,” he prompts gently. 

Melissa takes a big breath. “Yes, or I think there is, I’m really worried about her, which probably sounds presumptuous and yeah it is, but after today...I couldn’t not do something any more.”

Henry is starting to get worried. Despite the current state of their marriage (in shambles would be a nice way to put it) he loves Elizabeth beyond all measures. Melissa continues on, “We have small group meetings twice a week for her senior advisees. Usually they’re casual and light and go on for hours. This semester though, they’ve been short, Dr. McCord has been cutting them off, in the last week they ended with her crying for no discernible reason.” Henry startles at that, it’s not that Elizabeth doesn’t cry, she’s just usually very careful about who she cries in front of, a remnant of working in a male-dominated field for so long.

Melissa looks behind her at the seats, “Do you mind if I sit down? I ran all the way here to try and catch you.” Henry nods and moves out from behind the lectern to sit next to her. “Today I went in for my normal hours, I do some work-study for her too, and she was curled up on the couch sobbing. She told me to go away when I asked what was wrong. She said she was okay, but, and I could be wrong, but I swear I saw blood on her carpet. Not a lot, but enough that...I don’t know, I don’t think she’s okay and I’ve always loved your guys’ love story and the way she talks about you, it’s really romantic and probably she already called you, but I asked if she wanted me to get you and she said no, so she’s probably going to be really mad at me, but I’m worried, and I’m sorry, and tell her I’m sorry too and she doesn’t have to be my adviser any more if she doesn’t want and...” The girl finally seems to run out of breath, the whole story having come out in one big rush. When she mentioned blood Henry had started moving toward the door.

He nods his head at Melissa, “Thank you for getting me and I’m sure she won’t be too mad, I’ll talk to her.” He doesn’t have time to reassure her, because he feels the urgent need to get to Elizabeth as soon as possible. 

Her office is on the other side of campus, normally a fifteen minute walk, but he makes it in ten. He doesn’t bother knocking on the door and walks right in. Elizabeth doesn’t seem to have moved since Melissa was here, she is laying, curled up on her side facing the door, on the small couch next to her desk. She seems to have stopped crying, though her eyes are puffy and red, but she is staring into space in a way that frightens him. She doesn’t react at all to his presence. The door closes behind him with a snick and he walks toward his wife, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. “Elizabeth,” he says softly. Her eyes flick towards him but then she goes back to staring forward. He looks down and sees the stain Melissa mentioned, it does indeed look like blood, it’s larger than a dinner plate and has him assessing Elizabeth for any obvious injuries. Seeing none, but still not placated he kneels beside her on the floor. He pushes the hair out of her face, the hair she has finally let grow so it almost reaches the middle of her back. She flinches at his touch so he moves his hand away. He meets her eyes. “What’s going on baby?” She doesn’t respond, just blinks slowly. 

He looks behind him at the rug. “Is that blood?”

She nods. “Are you hurt?” She starts to shake her head no but then turns it into a nod. Not knowing what to make of that, he asks “Can you show me where you’re hurt?” And then she devolves into sobs again, her voice keening in pain, her body trying to curl further into itself. He can’t take it anymore and stands up and scoops her into his arms as he sits in the couch. Her head buries itself into his neck. He strokes her hair and murmurs nonsense. “Shhh, it will be okay, I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a miscarriage fic but I decided that was far outside my realm of expertise and too sensitive of a topic for me to address well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was so much potential in the Algeria storyline (and damn was Elizabeth hot strutting around like a badass) and I really want a kidnapping fic, I just don't want to actually write it. AU during 3x02, when the changeover of power does not go so well and Elizabeth gets kidnapped by the President.

She’s not supposed to be here. It’s an inane and unproductive thought, she knows this and yet she can’t help but keep thinking it. The thing is, she’s pretty sure her captors are thinking the same thing. None of this seems planned, a crime of opportunity on their part, bad luck on hers. She should have known better, anticipated the danger, filled her security detail on the possibility for this all to go south. Instead, she went in, metaphorical guns blazing, and now she’s here. She’s blindfolded, gagged, tied to a chair with her hands behind her, and more than a little uncomfortable as she drips sweat in the back room of some nondescript house in the Algerian hinterlands. She doesn’t know exactly where they are, the rush through city streets and then a desert in the back of a jeep with an AK-47 shoved into her gut, didn’t really give her time for sight-seeing. The gag does seem like overkill though, given all she’d seen as they dragged her inside was sand and dirt. Maybe it’s just to demoralize her, maybe her captors are just inexperienced and think you should always take away your hostage’s senses. She’s going mostly with the latter, especially because they also seemed ignorant of how to tie up your captive if you still want them to have all their limbs when you’re done. She lost feeling in her hands a while ago, and she wishes she would lose feeling in the rest of her arms because the sharp, stabbing pain is clouding her mind. 

She tries to distract herself, imagining what’s going on in the rest of the world. She keeps hearing snatches of conversation from the other room, frantic yelling about drones and soldiers and spies. It’s night, that much she knows, because the light poking through her blindfold had disappeared a while ago, and she doesn’t think it’s self-centered to imagine that the world, or at the very least the Situation Room, is in uproar. She doubts Conrad is reacting very well to the now deposed President of Algeria using a kerfuffle between security forces to overcome her own security and kidnap the Secretary of State. She doubts even more that the video they made, a gun pressed into her head threatening to kill her if their demands aren’t met, made him feel any better, especially if she looks as bad as she feels. 

Her heart stutters when she thinks of Henry, of the kids. God she hopes Conrad didn’t let them see the video, hopes the video isn’t all over the media.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after 3x18 Good Bones. This was one of the first fics I actually tried to write, but I couldn't make it work the way I wanted with Henry having his legs busted canonically during this episode.

When Henry enters their bedroom he hears the shower running but the lights in the bathroom appear to all be off and the door is mostly closed. That’s never a good sign. He had stayed downstairs after dinner talking to the kids while Elizabeth retreated upstairs. He knows how much she is still hurting over recent events. He worries about her so much, she’s so much more fragile than she seems. 

He sits down on the bed and takes off his various braces and awkwardly pulls off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers and his thankfully waterproof cast. He pushes the bathroom door open further and enters, closing it partially behind him so there is still a sliver of light illuminating the room. He hobbles over to the shower door and opens it, Elizabeth doesn’t move. He can just barely make her form out, she is standing under the spray, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. “Can I come in?” She makes the tiniest hum and he takes it for agreement. As quickly as he can given his current condition, he sheds his boxers and steps into the shower closing the door behind him. 

She has both shower heads going and when he steps under the water he flinches. He imagines that if the lights were on he would see that her skin is flushed red from the heat. “Are you trying to boil yourself alive?” 

“Hmmm,” is all she says, still not moving an inch. 

He settles onto the shower stool across from her. He wants to touch her, but he’s not sure if that’s the right tactic right now. “What’s wrong baby?”

“My staff think I’m a monster.” Her eyes remain closed, but he can hear the despair in her voice.

“Why do they think that?”

“Because I am.” Her eyes open at that and he can just make out the lines of her face, see the pain etched in them. He stays silent, watching her. After a moment she continues, and her voice starts to break. “They died, they all died and all I could talk about was the budget and how pleased I was. Those girls are dead and all I care about is that I got a few extra million dollars for my department. I am a monster.” She is crying by the end, sobbing really, and he can’t help himself, he tugs on her hands until she is standing in front of him and then he guides her so she is sitting sideways on his lap. It’s not the most comfortable position but she wraps her arms around his neck and tucks her face into his chest.

His first instinct is to comfort, to assure her that she’s not, that this pain she is feeling right now over what happened proves that she is anything but a monster. He could give her a monologue on all of her good qualities, list them off until he lost his voice. He wants to remind her that what her staff saw was Elizabeth’s coping skill, exceptional compartmentalization, that it’s the only sane coping skill when she’s faced with atrocities every day. He knows that won’t make anything better though. Instead, he rubs her back and lets her cry, murmuring nonsense words of comfort. She slowly quiets. He continues with his methodical motions. 

A few minutes later she abruptly shifts and then her mouth is on his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth her teeth grazing his lips. He gives into it, for a moment, but then he stills and pushes her back. “No baby, this isn’t going to fix anything.”

“It doesn’t need to fix anything.” She adjusts herself so she is properly straddling him, her legs on either side of his. Her mouth moves to his neck and starts nipping and licking.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably less evil author and more a tidbit I don't have a place for.

“Who is this mysterious other intern who is joining us? I, for one, already hate them.” A girl with long red hair sits at the conference table in the building that houses the headquarters for one of Italy’s top fashion houses, fuming. She flips her hair over her shoulder and looks to her companions for back-up.

The boy across the table sighs. In heavily accented English he complains, “I was almost late because of a visa mix up and they were threatening to rescind my offer.”

The girl sitting to her left bobs her head in agreement, her bright green earrings jangling. “If we had to sit through five days of Lorenzo droning on about how lilac gray will be the next big thing and waxing poetic about ponchos, then they should too. It’s simply not fair.” 

The red head narrows her eyes as a man and a woman in off-rack suits enter the room and take up residence along the wall. Nobody who works here would ever wear such outfits and she’s about to ask who they are when a dark-haired young woman walks confidently into the room and takes a seat. “Sorry I couldn’t be here for all the lectures, but I know a lot about ponchos, so hopefully I’m caught up. I couldn’t exactly miss my own mother’s inauguration though, I did design her dress for the inaugural ball, so it would have been weird to not be there.” The other interns gawp at her as they come to the realization that the other intern is the daughter of the new American President.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It bugged me that Elizabeth had darker hair in the flashback. I'm sure present-day Elizabeth does dye her hair somewhat but I can't imagine her doing the upkeep to keep it bleached that much, it's too much work. She'd be at the salon at least once a month.

Three weeks before her parents take a drive they never come back from, Elizabeth storms into the house and marches into the kitchen.

Her mother turns and smiles. “Hi sweetie, do you want some of these cookies?” She gestures toward the baking sheet she had been unloading.

Elizabeth stomps a foot. “No, I hate oatmeal raisin, you know that.” Her mother shrugs her shoulders and goes back to her task. “What I want is for you to take me to the salon. Today.”

The older woman sighs but doesn’t stop moving cookies to a plate. “Elizabeth, if you want your hair cut, we can make an appointment and maybe go next week.” 

“I need to go today. Soon. I need to dye my hair.” She is perilously close to whining.

That makes her mother look at her. “Why in the world would you want to dye your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

Elizabeth refuses to meet her eyes. “Because, I just need to.”

Will runs in. “It’s because she’s blonde, she knows blondes have more fun, and she’s allergic to fun.” He snatches a cookie off the counter and shoves it into his mouth.

Elizabeth lets out a screech and starts to go after her brother, but her mother, well-versed in this routine, steps between them. Will taunts her from behind the safety of their mother. “Hey, how do you get a blonde to laugh on Saturday?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Tell her a joke on Wednesday!” He laughs.

“You’re blonde too doofus,” Elizabeth snaps out.

“Yeah, but I’m a boy, it’s different.” He is undeterred by his sister’s glare. “Here’s another one. Mr. Emerson told me. How does a blonde brain cell die?” He pauses for effect. “Alone!” 

Elizabeth seems to deflate at that one, while Will is bent over laughing. Their mother gives her a curious look. “Isn’t Mr. Emerson your math teacher?”

She nods her head and looks at the floor. The other woman purses her lips. “Will take some cookies and go into the other room and start your homework.”

Will looks aghast. “But Mooooom.” 

“Go. Now, or no more cookies.” Will trudges out after scooping up three more cookies. “Now, Elizabeth, does this have anything to do with why you want to dye your hair?”

“It’s not important, can we just go to the salon, please.”

Her mother just stares at her silently until Elizabeth starts squirming. “Fine. Maybe. Mr. Emerson doesn’t want to let me take his advanced math class next year and then he was telling a bunch of blonde jokes with the boys in our study group. It’s not a big deal. I just thought it was time for a change.” She trails off, not sure what else to say. 

Her mother nods thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll call and see if we can get you in tomorrow. Just remember it takes a long time for hair to grow out.”

“I know. I know. "


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be part of the series of people finding out Elizabeth is running for President. The only one I finished is the Henry's family one I posted on Tumblr.

She hears a snippet on the radio in the kitchen, “At a rally today, McCord announced...” but the head cook switches the station before she can hear the rest. The other woman is approximately six feet tall, almost 300 pounds, and has a reputation for putting people in the hospital wing, so Juliet chooses not to ask her to change the station back.

It’s another week before she manages to get confirmation, overhearing a news broadcast on a television the guards are watching. “Former Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord is surging in the polls today, especially in the key swing states of Ohio and Michigan.” She doesn’t hear the rest because she has to move on, but it confirms what she suspected, Elizabeth is running for goddamn President. She’s not really sure how to feel about that. Elizabeth is mostly a self-righteous bitch who doesn’t know how to keep her sanctimonious ideas to herself. At the same time though they did used to be friends and Elizabeth isn’t always a completely horrible person, just annoying. 

She manages to snag a paper a few days later and reads all about Elizabeth’s plan to restructure the criminal justice system And hot damn if her ideas don’t make a lot of sense, hell if she could vote she might even vote for the woman.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I got in my Elizabeth has superpowers fic.

She always knows when people are lying. It’s not some kind of super-observational skill, she doesn’t detect their heart beat or watch their eyes, it’s just magic. She used to think she was crazy, that the pop in her brain she felt, that sparkle she saw drawing her towards something was a sign that she needed medical intervention. She was just starting to figure out that it wasn’t, that this thing was real when her parents died. Then she had no one to talk to, to help figure out if it was some kind of family trait. 

It wasn’t really a useful power as a teenager, in fact it made her life more difficult more often than not. She knew when Sharon Atkins “forgot” to invite her to the end of the year party that it wasn’t an accident, that it was malicious, that Sharon thought she was odd and weird and didn’t want the ‘freaky orphan’ at her party (the last she found out because she overheard it, not because she could also read minds). When Jacob Bowler told her that she was the first girl he slept with, that he loved her and only wanted to be with her, the distinctive pop lit up her brain, but she didn’t care she just wanted to feel something. Mrs. Gallagher, her guidance counselor, told her that things would get better and the pop was smaller with a little fizzle of sparkle and she realized that it wasn’t a complete lie, that Mrs. Gallagher half-believed it. That one didn’t matter, she already knew that she would carry this hurt her whole life, but that carrying it would probably get easier. She was so sick of adults offering platitudes though so she scoffed and slammed the office door as she left. 

She went off to college and she hated the world and she hated people and she was newly convinced that she was batshit insane. The voices or imagery or whatever in her head were a manifestation of grief (she ignored that she had felt this before her parents died). 

……..  
She’s tried to talk to Will a few times after he got older but he just makes jokes about her super spy skills. She doesn’t push, she doesn’t know how to explain to him that it is more than that. Later she hears story of how Will saves people who no one else could save, how he patches things together in a way that doesn’t quite make sense and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she isn’t the only one with some kind of power. 

…..

She turned to torture, allowed torture because she had relied on her power for so long. Now, in the face of more atrocities then she can comprehend, it’s useless. 

…...

She hears the truth of it in his voice, or rather her brain is completely blank, not even a flash. “I don’t know what it will look like when you come back.” Right then she hates everything about this stupid power. She wishes she could tell herself that he’s exaggerating or scared or manipulating her.

…..

She would know if he was cheating. She would have felt it. Her brain would have lit up like a Christmas Tree. Wouldn’t she of? Maybe? Did she get so used to tuning things out when it came to Henry that she missed it?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a second chapter to I Could Use a Love Song and also a prompt response for one of lilacmermaid's monthly challenges (It's a dark and stormy night). The miscarriage fic was also considered as a second chapter.

“I thought about it you know.” Her voice is quiet, she almost hopes he doesn’t hear, but his head whips around.

His eyes are accusing and she sighs and settles back into the chair. “Not in the way you think and certainly not with Conrad.” He turns to fully face her but makes no further moves. She deliberately looks above his head, unable to meet his eyes. “I was furious at you, I wanted one damn thing in my life to be easy, the world was falling apart and you were supposed to be my rock, the thing that was always there. Instead you were forcing me to make an impossible choice.” He starts to say something but she waves him off. “I don’t want to re-litigate it. I was being unfair, I was expecting you to be some mindless automaton, which you’ve never been and just proves how screwed up my brain was.”

He sits gingerly on the edge of the couch and offers her a half-smile.

“So I was full of what I thought was righteous anger and the second night I was at Conrad’s he wasn’t there and I didn’t want to be alone so I went out to a bar. I just planned on getting drunk. There was this guy, typical DC hack, who started hitting on me. He was persistent, not in a creepy way, but he bought me a drink and kept talking.” Henry’s curiosity is clearly peaked. “I thought about how easy it would be, how I could do this one thing and then I wouldn’t have to worry about making any decisions. 

...........................

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this on such a dark and stormy night?”

Elizabeth grits her teeth and attempts to side-eye the DC slick man into submission. Being called girl is one of the quickest ways to get her temper up, she’s a professional, and she’s inching ever-closer to 40. She stirs her drink with the straw and refuses to engage. He is undeterred. He sidles up closer to her, his arm brushing against hers. “Let me guess your story. I’m great at figuring out a girl’s story.”

She sighs and turns to face him, purposefully bringing her left hand up to drum her fingers on the bar, bringing attention to her wedding ring. Even if she feels like she doesn’t have the right to wear it right now, maybe it can serve some use. The man’s glance flicks down but he doesn’t react, instead he places his hand next to hers. “Seriously, I’ve got this.” He squints his eyes and looks her up and down. “Non-profit type right? I’m thinking the head of one of the big human rights organizations” She can’t but let out a guffaw at that, nothing she’s doing right now is aligned with human rights. 

He holds his hand up in surrender. “Okay, maybe not, but you don’t look like the lobbyist type and you definitely don’t work on the Hill, I would have noticed a beautiful blonde like you. You clearly wield some kind of power, you have an aura. Think tank?” 

She shakes her head and smiles. Against her will, she’s charmed. At another time she’d find him attractive, even if he radiates DC with his expensive suit and slicked-back hair. She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers. “I’m married.”

He laughs. “Since when has that ever stopped anybody in this town? What are you drinking? That looks like it’s mostly ice.” He turns to signal the bartender.

“It stops me. Unlike politicians, I like to keep my promises.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Letting me buy you a drink doesn’t break any promises.” The bartender appears in front of them. “I’ll take another Scotch,” he holds up his glass, “and the lady will have…” He looks at her expectantly. 

“Long Island,” she says, resigned. 

He laughs as the bartender leaves to make their drinks. “Long Island? That’s what 20 year old interns order.”

She shrugs. “I wanted something that tastes good and works quickly.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Trying to forget something, I get that. I’m Jacob and you are?”

She knows she should shut him down, go back to drinking alone. It would be the smart thing to do, too bad she’s not feeling particularly smart. “Elizabeth.”

“Nice, I’ve always liked that name. So, I guess that leaves government work.” He pivots back to the previous conversation. “I can’t really picture you as some middle manager shuffling paperwork in a windowless office.” 

She arches her eyebrows. “What exactly is it you picture me doing?”

He smirks. She hadn’t meant for that be flirty, but it’s too late to take it back. He’s apparently a gentleman though because he lets it pass. “Saving the world? Or at least ordering people around who save the world. Maybe leading an army? But I don’t think you’re military, you haven’t got that rigidness about you.” 

“I like to think I’m saving the world, sometimes, on good days.” She can’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice. 

“Ah, a crisis of faith, that’s what brought you here. I’m familiar with that one. I work for a Senator, most of the time I think he’s one of the good ones, but this town will suck every bit of optimism out of you.” Their drinks are placed in front of them, he picks his up and tilts it toward her. “Cheers, to a ?”

She rolls her eyes, but obligingly picks up the new glass and taps it to his. 

It would be so easy to have the decision made for her. She’s hasn’t been prone to self-destructive tendencies in years, but she can see the appeal. Go home with this guy, ruin her marriage, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about choosing between her family and her career. She’s not going to do that, she repeats it silently to herself. Not only because the thought of being with anyone besides Henry makes her nauseous.


End file.
